


Dead Guys Can Get High, Too

by invisiblereprise



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice - All Media Types
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, Drug Use, F/M, Mentions of Suicide, Musical-verse, Porn with Feelings, Recreational Drug Use, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Sex, can dead guys get high? probably not. do they in this? yes, just go with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 07:22:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19389256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisiblereprise/pseuds/invisiblereprise
Summary: It starts when Lydia decides to smoke a joint with a dead guy instead of jumping off of the roof. Then, it escalates.





	Dead Guys Can Get High, Too

**Author's Note:**

> Set in musical-verse, but could be read as movie-verse as well. Lydia's age isn't mentioned in this, but in my head she's 17, because that's how old I am and it's what I'm comfortable writing while still sticking to canon-ish. If this is something you don't like, please just don't read. This is very explicit, and I haven't written that much smut (especially not straight smut) so please bear with me. Mostly porn with feelings. 
> 
> That said, hope you enjoy!

"Can you even get high?"

He sneered. Lydia was beginning to think that his default expression. "You really think I've gone this long without gettin' stoned every once in a while?"

"You're dead, it's a valid question!" Her defense was somewhere between playful and annoyed, laying somewhere in the middle that she herself couldn't even define.

"Just light the joint."

She did, paying more attention to his expression that she could just catch out of the corner of her eye than the lighter. Her hand slipped, and the lighter licked at her palm.

"Fuck," she muttered, shaking her hand to dull the pain.

Betelgeuse inched over next to her, gaze intense and eyes half-lidded.

"Burn yourself?"

Annoyed, she spit out a "yeah" and went back to lighting the joint. He’d been annoying her for nearly an hour after happening upon her preparing to jump, not that he knew her intentions. Somehow, she had ended up with a joint in her hand instead, retrieved from the little box she kept them in under the clothing in her underwear drawer.

Smiling wider than she had ever seen him, Betelgeuse practically purred as he cooed "hot" right into her ear, his breath tickling her.

Against her better judgement, Lydia shivered and tried to ignore the heat that shot down between her legs at his words.

"Shut up," she retorted, taking a hit. He reached out his hand to snatch the joint away, but before he could grasp it, she dodged his hand.

"Not so fast," she said, and then took another, especially drawn-out, hit to spite him.

A few seconds later, she reluctantly handed it over. She had half a mind to take it back over how goddamn smug he seemed.

"So," he said, smoke drifting from his mouth, "What's your deal anyway, up on this roof all by your lonesome?"

"Oh you know." her shoulder lifted in a shrug. "Jumping. Ideally, at least."

"Mmmmm," his words were saturated with smoke, "Wouldn't join me down below just yet, darlin'. No sympathy down there for people like you."

Offended, Lydia plucked the joint right out of his mouth. "What do you mean, "people like me"?"

"Deaths not an equal opportunity employer." He didn't even seem phased when she took the joint, just chuckled, nearly leering at her. "You off yourself, they don't care if you're a little girl. No sympathy."

"I'm not a little girl." She resented him even voicing it. Little girls didn't smoke joints. Little girls didn't write suicide notes. Little girls didn't sit on the edge of rooftops, deciding when to jump.

He appraised her, eyes lingering too long on her breasts, too long on the bare skin of her legs under her dress. "I'll give ya that," he said, sounding like he would gladly eat her whole. Parts of her, at least. "You're not a little girl."

The high was beginning to seep through her blood and muddy her brain, enough that he was--shockingly--beginning to look less disgusting.

"You know," she said conversationally, "You're kind of hot, in a daddy way."

That shut him up, for a minute. She took a hit, then handed over the joint.

"Kind of?" he settled on, sounding more disgruntled than he looked. "Babes, I’m the hottest dead guy you'll ever meet. Big dick, too."

"Gross!" it wasn't, not really. It was kind of enticing. But there was no way in hell her pride would let her voice that aloud.

"My dick is not gross," he stole the joint back, hands cold against her warm skin. "It's fuckin' _magnificent_." As he said it, he practically preened.

"Oh yeah." she rolled her eyes. "Keep telling yourself that."

Contentedly, he passed her the joint. "I will."

As she took another hit, she could feel his eyes on her, drinking her in without an attempt to hide it.

"You know." She sucked in smoke, the joint nearly dying out as she did. "I'm gonna kill myself anyway. Might as well." she turned to him, rubbing out the joint on the edge of the roof and ignoring her inner voice screaming at her to shut up. Sure, this was a terrible idea, what which of hers hadn’t been terrible lately? "Wanna fuck?"

For once, possibly for the first time in his entire life- or, well, death— Betelgeuse looked positively speechless.

“I—”

Lydia cut in before he could say whatever was kicking around in his brain. “I know, I know, I’m too young, you don’t know me, we’re too stoned. But listen—”

It was his turn to cut her off. “Not an issue, _definitely_ not an issue, and who cares?” As if he didn’t realize he was doing it, he licked his lips, openly staring at her with hunger-like lust. “I say we do it.”

“Yeah?” An interesting turn of events. Unexpected, but not unwelcome. Sure, he was dead, older than she ever wished to think about, and kind of gross, but what the hell. He was available, and he was hot, in a twisted sort of way, and she figured dying a virgin was no way to go. It's not that she hadn't wanted to have sex in the past, just never really came across the opportunity. But what was this, if not an opportunity?

“Yeah.” He licked his lips again. “God, babes, you’re so hot.” He didn’t even follow it with a disclaimer that he knew she was underage, just continued staring, his hand creeping toward her thigh.

She rolled her eyes again. “Yeah, alright. Not here. I may be fucking a dead guy, but I am _not_ doing it on a roof.”

“We could go to the neitherworld. Got a place, kinda dirty but so is this.” He said it as if he thought himself to be clever. Lydia just shook her head. It wasn’t that she was opposed to that idea, exactly, just that everything about this felt terribly new. Terribly unstable. Letting him whisk her off to godslashsatan knows where— well, she may want to die, but even that seemed too unpleasant for her liking.

“No,” she decided, taking one last look off of the side of the roof, “Let’s go to my room." Safer there. Less uncertain.

Betelgeuse didn’t seem to mind. “Okay,” he said, floating upward. “Meet ‘cha there!” And just like that, he was gone, presumably to lounge in her room.

She arrived, after sneaking back through the window, to find that she was correct— Betelgeuse was lying on her bed, head propped up in his hand and that incessant grin still on his lips.

Suddenly, everything was very, very real.

“Okay,” she muttered, glancing from her locked door to Betelgeuse, “Alright. How do we—” she cut herself off. No need to make him even more smug than he already was. “Let’s do this,” she amended, taking one last look at the door before yanking her shirt over her head. It seemed like the right first step, and she didn’t miss his startled grunt as she did it.

“Jesus, Lydia,” he said, and she could see his eyes raking over her body. “Your tits are _amazing_.”

She didn’t know if she should take that as a compliment. Instead of deciding, she quickly pulled off her pants and lowered herself onto the bed as if it were much more fragile than it was.

“Shit,” he said again, and as he said it, he shook, as if he could hardly contain himself.

Against her better judgement, the space between Lydia’s legs was beginning to feel slick, and hot, and every passing moment saw her caring more about getting some relief from the heat than the fact of what she was about to do. What she _suggested_.

“Come on,” she said, voice breathy, and higher than normal. “Just— take off your clothes. Please.”

“Begging already.” He undid the button on his pants and yanked them off, not even bothering with the shirt. He wasn’t wearing underwear, unlike what she had hoped, so the moment his pants were gone his cock became the focal point of his entire body. He was right, it was big— nearly too big, and very excited. “I’m gonna make you plead for it, little girl. I’m gonna _destroy_ you.”

She didn’t doubt it. She ignored the nervousness pooling in her stomach, and offered him what she hoped was a cocky grin. “Hop to it, then.” Her cunt reacted to his words even as she tried to bar her face from reacting, and she shivered as he tugged off her bra with the ease of someone that was no stranger to the practice.

“Shut up,” he muttered, and a moment later, his rough, cold hand clasped over her mouth, effectively cutting off any sound other than muffled ghosts of words. With his remaining hand, he pulled her panties down her legs, and then gestured for her to kick them off, as if doing it himself was just too much work that she was not deserving of.

Cheeks red, she kicked them off.

“Good girl.” His hand inched up her thigh and settled over her opening, his fingers teasing around it but never quite dipping in completely. With his other arm, he held her legs open, even as she tried to squeeze them shut in a desperate attempt for friction. All she could think about was getting some sort of sensation, _anything_. The miserable, dark pit still remained deeply rooted in her stomach, but at the moment, cumming was a higher priority than offing herself was. It felt better than she expected, though she hadn’t expected much.

“Good girl,” he repeated, still using his fingers to spread her wetness around. “Listen. If I take my hand offa your mouth, you gotta promise not to be loud, yeah? Can’t have daddy and Delia hearing ya, might wonder why you’re seemingly getting fucked by the air.”

She nodded as hard as she could manage, only half-processing his words, mostly hoping that agreeing would make him _do something_.

Cautiously, he removed his hand. She remained as quiet as possible, her loud breaths the only noise betraying her frustration.

A moment later, Betelgeuse removed his hand from her cunt and, before she could complain, shoved his slick-covered fingers between her lips.

“Suck,” he ordered, heeding no mind to the fact that she was being forced to taste herself. She did, partially because she didn’t have a choice and partially because she was curious. As she sucked, he advanced toward her, his cock rubbing against her cunt.

“Wait,” she said around his fingers. He pulled them out, and waited expectantly. She bit the bullet. “I’ve never…done this. I—yeah.” She wasn’t sure what the point of telling him was, but it felt like something he needed to know, so she told him.

“A virgin.” The moment the words left his mouth she regretted telling him. “Interesting. No one’s ever seen you like this? Or put their cock in you, fucked you until you couldn’t think?”

She shook her head and tried to resist the sinking feeling throughout her body. He, on the other hand, seemed elated.

“Leave it all to me, darlin’. I’ll take good care of ya.” She felt his cockhead tease against her folds. It stayed there for a moment, taunting her, before he finally, finally, pushed in.

It hurt. It hurt and she sort of wanted to cry, because this was supposed to be perfect, her final send off, one moment of feeling something before she condemned herself to death.

Instead, it hurt. Not overly, not a searing pain, but a definite uncomfortable sensation that was more disconcerting than it was pleasurable.

“Ouch,” she murmured, not sure if she wanted him to hear.

He did. “What’d you say? Gotta admit, didn’t sound like stellar feedback.”

“No it—” she cut herself off. “It’s fine. Just, uh, just keep going.” She had a small hope that he would stop, would check in with her and figure out the issue, but this was Betelgeuse, and she sincerely should not expect anything of the sort, so he kept going, pushing in and out and groaning just quietly enough that her father and Delia couldn’t hear.

It got better, after a moment, hurt less, started to feel like she imagined it should. More than anything, it felt like something, something tangible, something that other people felt as well. Something similar to the oppressive darkness that weighed down her mind, but different enough to provide a nice change of pace.

It wasn’t magical, but it was enough to get her mind off of the roof, and as he kept moving, she actually started to feel like she might manage to get an orgasm out of this.

“Fuck, babes, you’re so good. So good—so warm around my cock, make me wanna cum right now.”

“Don’t be too hasty,” she said, but it was mostly under her breath. Once she got into the rhythm, she managed to angle herself so that she could devote a hand to rubbing her clit as he fucked her. At the very least, she could say she fucked a dead guy, and not in a necrophilia way. That had to give her some street cred in the afterlife.

He came before she did, and his cum dripped out of her alongside his cock as he did. Determined to see this though, she doubled down on her efforts on her clit and managed to bring herself off a few moments after he collapsed on top of her, and as she did, she bit down on his shoulder, delighting a bit in the mark that it was sure to leave. As she clamped down on his cock, her orgasm felt more intense, as though it lasted longer than it did when she just brought herself off.

“Not too bad,” he remarked, propped up beside her as she pulled herself off of him.

She shook her head, mind still scrambled from her high and sudden exhaustion seeping through her body. “What a compliment.”

*

Lydia didn’t kill herself that night. Instead, she smoked another joint with a dead guy, remnants of his cum drying on her thighs and handprint-shaped spaces of skin still chilled. She didn’t think this is what happiness was, at least not according to the conventional definition, but it was better than jumping off a roof. Plus, she was beginning to think that the neitherworld may not be worth it, not quite yet, if it was filled with guys like Beetlejuice. She wasn’t sure that she was quite ready to deal with more than one of him. Still, she had a feeling they would do this again.


End file.
